


The Last Bunker on the Left

by thebigtwist



Category: Last Podcast on The Left (Podcast) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:21:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26179435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebigtwist/pseuds/thebigtwist
Summary: As the apocalypses rages on outside their bomb shelter, Henry and Marcus realize that they've locked themselves in with a far greater danger.
Relationships: Ben/Henry
Kudos: 2





	The Last Bunker on the Left

Henry looked through the freezer with disappointment. The meat was running low and Ben would be getting hungry soon. He tried not to think about the last time Ben got too hungry.

Etches on the wall marked how many days they’d been in the bunker, or actually, how long Henry had kept track before giving up. It only depressed him now. Help wasn’t coming. The government broadcast messages of hope for a few months, then the radio went silent. He didn’t know what happened. If the government had won, why hadn’t someone come to save them? And if they lost… well, there was no point in thinking about that. He’d be dead soon anyway, just like Marcus.

The three boys had made it to the shelter just in time to slam the door behind them and activate the seal. They could hear the furious horde on the other side howling and slamming their bodies against the door. Only after it was far too late to venture outside again did they realize Ben had forgotten to pack his anti-depressants. Marcus had his mood stabilizers and Henry had plenty of weed, so they thought little of it. They found rooms and took stock of the inventory, not knowing the danger they had brought with them. If Henry had understood what was percolating inside Ben, he would have taken his chances with the horde.

A common side-effect of antidepressants is a lower libido. Ben claimed he never experienced that side effect, but Henry would see that the drugs in fact lowered had lowered his libido -- to normal, human, sane levels. At first, he and Marcus were traumatized by the sounds of Ben furiously masturbating on his bunk at all hours of the day and night. Before long, he could no longer be contained to his room, loosing his enormous cock from its denim prison whenever and wherever the urge overtook him. When Marcus protested, Ben twisted his hips and slapped him with his mighty phallus, sending him flying across the room. Marcus had a cock-shaped bruise on his face for a week. It was hilarious, Henry though privately, but deeply troubling.

Then there was the hunger. The bunker was designed to feed several large families for up to one year, but they never expected what a six foot six behemoth could eat. After only a few months, the stores were dangerously low. As Ben slept off another large meal, stretched cross several bunks and covered in his own sticky seed, Marcus and Henry huddled together to discuss how to save themselves. The most humane thing to do, they decided, was trick Ben into leaving the bunker. Perhaps the horde would take care of him, or perhaps the monsters would fall to the might of Ben’s monstrous cock, as they had. Henry laid awake all night, praying to his lord Satan to show him some other way, some way to recapture the friendship which had made their podcast so successful. Divine inspiration never came, and eventually, he drifted off to sleep.

He awoke in the morning to find the monster’s nude form standing over him. Ben’s massive erect tool pendulated threateningly over his head and a thick rope of precum hung from the tip, glistening in the soft lighting of his subterranean prison. “Found some more meat,” he grunted. Henry tried to scramble away but after Ben managed to catch him in his big mitts. He struggled in vain, but his friend easily overpowered him.

“Open up,” Ben grunted. He refused to open his mouth, so Ben squeezed his head with his brutish strength until he screamed in pain, and that’s when Ben shoved his thick cock into Henry’s mouth. He stuffed his fat cock all the way down Henry’s throat, the huge, pulsating cockhead slamming into his esophagus, before pulling out and thrusting in even harder. Tears streamed down Henry’s face. If he couldn’t get Ben out of the bunker, he was going to go himself. He couldn’t imagine staying locked in with this monster for another moment, until Ben grunted and unleashed a torrent of his seed into Henry’s mouth. Of all the gourmet, exquisite meals Henry had ever tasted, this was the most delicious thing he had ever experienced. The tears of pain became tears of joy. An odd feeling of longing came over him, thinking about wasted load, every time he’d cleaned up Ben’s jism with a mop and bucket instead of his tongue.

Henry fell back onto the cot, exhausted and happy, cum dribbling down his chin and neck. “Need you to cook up the meat,” Ben gruffed and plodded away. What meat was he talking about? Henry had assumed it was some savage pun, until walked out into the common room and stepped in in something wet and warm. At first, he assumed it was just more semen --- Ben left ankle-deep pools of it around the bunker -- until he looked down and saw the crimson red liquid. Marcus was dead, torn limb from limb. This was the new meat Ben had found.

Henry sighed and shook the memory out of his head. It had been less than a week since Ben had killed their friend. Who would do the research for the podcast now? His stomach turned every time he had to cook a section of Marcus. He lived a terrible duality, fearing the monster that Ben had become, yet enjoying the complete surrender of his body to that same monster. He had never been more scared or sexually satisfied in his life.

He bent over into the chest freezer, his poor bottom aching, to retrieve a section of thigh for Ben’s dinner. There was only a little bit left. What was going to happen now? Did Ben value him more as food or as a sexual slave? Before long, the bunker door would open. Would it be Henry, fleeing to take his chances against the horde? Or would it be Ben, with a sack of Henry jerky slung over his shoulder, ready to subject the horde to his own brand of horny savagery?


End file.
